


Bottom of the river

by Anuna



Series: Monsters [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Redemption, Testing the Waters, a conversation between two abused spies with red on their hands, and figuring out what is left to fight for, post agents of SHIELD season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“One dead guy appointed another dead guy as a director of an officially nonexistent agency,” Natasha said. “Tell me that's not an interesting turn of events.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottom of the river

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashen_key](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful and lovely **ashen_key** who suggested the following: Natasha finds Ward after he crossed off a big player whom he and Garrett helped escape the Fridge. She doesn't trust him (just as he doesn't trust her), but she wants to talk and see where he stands. (That was the gist of the prompt, or at least that's how I interpreted it). 
> 
> The best line in this fic (the one you see in the summary) is something another friend of mine, **Prawn_Crackers** told me back when the season 1 ended, and I think I'll forever be in love with that line. 
> 
> Also, the complete quote by Terry Pratchett that Natasha was referring to [can be found here](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/819071-men-at-arms-discworld-15?page=1).
> 
> The title comes from Delta Rae's song "Bottom of the river".

“Don't bother,” Natasha said as she entered the church. The figure in front of her – obviously tall, despite sitting on a very last bench and almost drenched in darkness – had stopped moving. She proceeded forward and moved to sit next to him. Taller than you'd expect is what people usually described him. They were right. “I'm not going to shoot you,” she said, looking forward as if she was here to pray. 

“Isn't that a relief,” he said. That was when Natasha glanced at him. 

“It should be.” 

“Should it?” he asked. 

“As much as a pissing contest would be fun, I have more important things to discuss with you,” she said. He was staring forward, jaw tight, shoulders tense – she could tell even though he was wearing a leather jacket. She could read people, and she supposed he was able to hide things, and the fact she could easily read him now was indicative. 

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “Like the job you've just done.”

Her tone was flat. He tensed further, affirming her suspicions. Natasha knew a lot of different agents, different kinds of agents. The ones like Grant Ward should probably be the rarest kind, or non existent. However, she had a strong suspicion that everyone reached this point sooner or later – that one job you regretted, the damage you couldn't control, the victims that shouldn't have been. After that you didn't want to hold the gun in your hand. You didn't want to pull the trigger any more. (It was only Drakoff that should have died.) 

“You beat me to it,” she said, and he tilted his head to the side to observe her. 

“That should be a first,” he said ironically, “that I beat you to something.” 

“Ah,” she sighed. 

She told Coulson, over and over, to put a stop to it. Nobody deserved to be compared to her, but not for the reasons of some kind of professional excellence (which was frankly a ridiculous idea, considering the state of their organization.) She simply didn't want baby agents to strive to be like her. 

“I'm sure you were better than most of them gave you credit for,” Natasha said. “All things considered.” 

Ward narrowed his eyes at her. He had a Clint – like quality to him – you thought you could read his face, pinpoint an emotion in his eyes and interpret it, even be drawn to it, but at the end, he wouldn't let you see through if he didn't want to. 

“Should I thank you?” 

“I don't know, Ward,” she turned to him and let her face harden. “I'm done making smalltalk, you know. What's your play?” 

He laughed. It echoed in the small church, an unpleasant, dishonest sound. 

“Priceless question from one spy to another,” he said. Natasha leaned forward, bracing her hand on the back of the bench in front of them. He raised an eyebrow at her. Oh he was dangerous, she was certain of that. But she was angry. Pissed in fact. Fooled, betrayed, used and lied to – again – and had been someone's gun – again. And she had a feeling that his background wasn't much different, if possibly shittier, but she didn't have time for acts of compassion. She needed to know before the witch hunt against former SHIELD agents took McCarthy proportions. 

“You're not a spy if nobody is paying you, Ward.” 

His eyes flashed. 

“Are you saying nobody is paying you, Romanoff?” 

“You're a smart guy, Ward. What do you think?”

She could see him draw back, like a cat curling in the claws. 

“I didn't know John Garrett had such opportunistic talent,” she said. “Bet you didn't either.”

His lips thinned. “You'd know what you're talking about.” 

“After two organizations that lied to me in order to use me? I think I know exactly what I'm talking about.” 

And there it was. He was so messed up that he couldn't control his reactions. His face was displaying everything like a map – anger, disappointment, loss and even fear. 

And she could relate to each and every single one. 

“You betrayed people and people betrayed you,” Natasha continued. “But that's not the worst thing.”

“I'm sure you'll be oh so kind to enlighten me what the worse thing is,” he said. 

“As the matter of fact, I will,” Natasha handed him the plastic folder that was resting on her lap. In there was a single black and white photograph of a grey haired man reaching his car. Ward frowned. “Do you know him?” she asked, but she knew that he didn't before he even answered. His guard was down, and a spy as good as him wouldn't forget a face. 

“No,” Ward said simply. “Should I?”

“You tell me,” she said. “He signed all of your psych profiles.” 

Ward's face darkened. Natasha wondered how exactly Garrett pulled it off. Considering the data she was able to save, Garrett did it several times, recruited people that suited him and covered it up with fitting psych evaluations and faked reports. 

And someone had to sign those.

Once written, names could have been tracked back, and people like Glenn Talbot were certainly eager to take out anyone who helped with the Hydra coverup. 

Ward was looking at her expectantly. Based on his expression, he knew he wouldn't like the rest of the story she was about to tell him. Natasha let her eyes fall onto the picture and held back a pang of pain. 

“Doctor Peter Mikhaelson used to be SHIELD's shrink,” she said. As expected Ward reacted to the past tense. “Someone killed him on his doorstep two days ago. I doubt he was Hydra, but his name was inside your file, and I am guessing inside of many others that ended up playing for the wrong side.” 

“I see,” Ward said after several moments. 

“He did my profile,” Natasha added and this time she didn't try to rein in the empty pit inside of her chest. It wasn't the fact that she didn't expect the grief – she didn't expect someone like Doctor Mikhaelson to get shot. This time Ward didn't say anything, yet Natasha knew he heard the unspoken. 

_This was a man who helped me and he is dead now. He was innocent and didn't need to die, and the thing was, more people were going to die_. 

“You want the names,” Ward said. They were right about him, he was quick and smart. She suspected, though, that they underestimated just how smart. 

Or maybe, how desperate.

“You're a rare person, Ward, in a rare position. Talbot is now leading the witch hunt against our former colleagues, and it's a bit like running through the darkened alley with a blindfold on. Lot of collateral damage,” she said and watched him twitch. That was a thing about their sort of work – a job well done didn't guarantee a clean conscience, but just the opposite. “Your former boss, the not dead one, is trying to help him, but I don't see him doing any better.”

“Coulson is clueless,” Ward said. And there was it. Another suspicion confirmed. Ward's eyes widened. “Oh don't tell me he didn't send you _I'm not dead_ postcard?” 

Natasha smiled. It wasn't happy and it wasn't kind. What was that thing again, about being betrayed?

“I had suspicions,” she admitted. 

“It must suck,” Ward said, leaning forward with his elbows against the back of the bench in front of them. 

“Coulson is running the team you betrayed,” she said. Ward turned enough to look at her. 

“No, Coulson is now running SHIELD. Fury appointed him a new director,” Ward explained and the sarcasm in his voice was enough to tell her just what his opinion of it was. 

“Oh. Well, that is interesting.”

“What is interesting?”

“One dead guy appointed another dead guy as a director of an officially nonexistent agency,” Natasha said. “Tell me that's not an interesting turn of events.” When Ward turned to face her this time around she could see his mouth drop just slightly. Then he chuckled. 

“They didn't tell me you have a sense of humor,” he said. 

“It's what you learn when you meet me in person,” she leaned forward, elbows against the bench, and stared towards the altar. Was it strange how the church didn't cave in yet and fallen over them? “I don't like collateral damage myself. And I think you don't like it either.” 

“Do you like doing the damage?” he asked instead of commenting on her line. Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. He looked worn out, older than in the photographs she was able to procure – but that was what beard could do to one's face. 

Natasha replied with a question of her own. 

“Are you asking me is there the right kind of damage?” he didn't reply and she didn't expect him to. This conversation had strayed far enough, but there was no back peddling now. Natasha's mouth twisted and when he turned to look at her, he held her gaze. “We've made a mess. Sadly, there isn't many ways to reduce that mess -” 

“But to make more mess,” he supplied. 

“You know, you can capture them,” Natasha said after several moments of silence. “Tie them up and address them to Coulson.” 

“Why would I do favors to someone who's on top of my shit list?” 

Natasha inclined her head. “Well, I'm not too happy with him either. Look at it like this. You'll be giving him more work. He can't count on Fridge any more -” 

“Ha, yeah. Thanks to me.” 

Natasha's lips stretched all the way. The man appreciated fine points of irony, and she appreciated _that_. 

“There you go,” she said. “As for the damage, sometimes it's inevitable. But you know that already, don't you?” 

He nodded and stared ahead. Natasha wondered if he was regretting every single decision he made in his life – God knew she had enough of such days. 

“There's an interesting thought though,” Natasha spoke, “about how you can be killed,” Ward's attention was back on her and her smile was a deceptive kind of irony, but she suspected he could pick up on her own bitterness. “I read it in a book once. If you're looking at the wrong end of an arrow, pray that the person aiming at you is a bad man.” 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Because bad men like power, like to gloat and watch their prey squirm. So they put it off. And you have a chance to survive. Or just live a bit longer. But a good man?” she made a pause. The rest of the quote always made her uncomfortably thoughtful.“A good man will kill you with hardly a word.” 

“Interesting way to define a good man,” Ward said. 

“There can be honor even among the thieves, Ward. From what I've heard of you, you wouldn't qualify as a bad man.” 

He snorted and shook his head. She smiled to herself. Maybe this was the best example why she shouldn't be used as a measure for rookies, but then again, one couldn't do what she and Ward and others like them did, and keep their hands clean. Maybe it wasn't so bad knowing all the ways how to do it all and still sleep at night. 

Natasha stood. “If you know the names -” she said and left the thought unfinished for a moment. “I'm sure Coulson would be overjoyed with even more work. Maybe he'd be even glad to know he was wrong about you.” 

Ward raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You assume to know a lot about me, Agent Romanoff.” 

“Not an agent at the moment, Ward. But yes. I do assume,” she paused and looked around herself, noticing for the first time that the small space of the church was filled with warm light and worn out wood. “Look where I found you.” 

Ward's half smile seemed sad. “Point there,” he said. She nodded and let a few more silent moments pass by. 

“You know, it's okay being lost. It's not strange and it's not wrong. The question is what you do next. I always found that if in doubt it's best to read books.”

“Books,” he repeated, twitching again as if she hit a nerve. 

“Yes, books. They're good because there are all kinds of them. About anything you might want to read about,” she said, and for a moment thought of her personal collection in her New York apartment. Most probably raided by one agency or another by now. “They can be like answers you didn't know you needed.” 

He half smiled again and nodded. If she were a different kind of person she'd tell him he'd make it. She'd maybe even pat his hand and tell him that there was a chance to start anew as long as you were alive, but given her current state; given how tired and disappointed she felt, she struggled with that particular belief herself. 

But then, people like Peter Mikhaelson needed her. People who were innocent when compared to her. People who would become collateral damage nobody would answer for. So she had to find the strength. 

“What was it that you quoted?” Ward asked just when she was about to say goodbye, and that got him a genuine, if a very brief smile. 

“Terry Pratchett,” she said. “A British author. His book called _Men at Arms_ ,” she smiled again because it was hard to think about that book, and not smile. “It's one of the series,” she added. “I think you'd like it.” 

“You're telling me to read it?” he asked. Natasha paused, realizing that something else was in his voice, something she didn't pick up on until now. 

Insecurity. 

“It's a suggestion,” she said, and a vaguely familiar feeling nagged at the edge of her thoughts. One related to strict yet simple world narrowed down by orders and decisions someone else made for you, and so it felt like you weren't responsible for the things you did. Ward's look was heavy when he nodded. Natasha was certain now, he wasn't an active threat. He was a man who'd have to make a lot of choices, and his time was limited. Natasha found she didn't envy him. 

But then, she didn't envy herself either.


End file.
